Story Collection
by Pyralis Anacreon
Summary: A collection of story ideas which will probably never be written by me. Steal, plagiarize, and copy all you want. Some of them make less sense than others.
1. Chapter 1

Here is where I will post the stories that pop into my head and demand to be written. Probably none of these will make it very far. Please plagiarize and steal all you want, I don't care what you do with these. They're up for grabs. But link me to the story if you decide to write it, because I want to see where people take my ideas.

* * *

The Crow- A Harry Potter, Beka Cooper series (by Tamora Pierce) crossover. Need not have read _Terrier_ or _Bloodhound_, though it helps.

* * *

A little boy, just five years old, lay in the frees-cut grass of a back yard. The house, looking exactly the same as all the others on the street, was dark. The doors were, locked, and he kept out. He hadn't finished cutting the grass and raking the grass clippings from the yard in time to get in before his relatives closed up. He suspected they'd gone to bed early just so that he would have to spend the night outside.

But he didn't mind really. The night was comfortably warm, the lush grass soft, and the sky was so clear he could see every single star. This was even better than sleeping in his cupboard. He squinted, tilted his head. No, those five stars still didn't look like anything. Whichever astronomer had come up with these constellations had obviously been flying high as a kite, he decided.

As he watched, all five of those stars he was thinking of flickered. That might not be anything unusual, except that they all did it at once, vanishing just long enough for him to perceive it, before reappearing. Strange.

The sound of grass being crushed under something's weight made him look to his left. A small cat, entirely black save for it's glowing purple eyes, approached at a leisurely pace. It stepped nimbly up to sit comfortably on his chest, tail wrapping around to cover it's neatly place front paws. It made such a prim figure that he knew this was no ordinary cat.

"Hello," He said.

_Hello, child._ It said. He heard a meow, but it was quickly translated into speech in his head. Somehow, he was not surprised to find that this cat talked. _I am here to take you away, should you want it._

He considered it. "Where would we go?"

_To a place very, very far away. And then, when you're ready, to a place that is between here and there._

"Will I be happier there?"

_That depends on you, child._ The cat said, wisely. _I think you will be very sad at times, and life will be hard and you will wish I had never come to you. But there may also be times when you are far happier, far more fulfilled, than you could ever be here._

"Will it be hard?"

Always. And always, it will be worth it.

"Then I'll go with you, Mr Cat." He said.

The cat nodded, and then lowered its head until its amethyst purple eyes took up the boy's entire vision. He felt like he was falling into them, spiraling down and down and down....

* * *

He woke to find in blank, black space. He felt like maybe this was what it was like to be blind, except that he had no other senses, either. He panicked, depraved of everything that connected him to something else. The instinctual fear of being absolutely, undeniably and completely alone overwhelmed and consumed his mind. Terror raced and built up inside of him, nearly frowning out the voice that called in his mind.

_Human child! Enough!_ It commanded him. _You are not alone! We are here, if you would seek us out_.

He managed to calm down enough to reach towards the voice, the only other thing besides himself in this vast nothing. He latched onto something that was warm and kind and wise

_I am sorry, child. I had forgotten that the star's domain is not meant for humans._

_Take me back! _He says. _I want to go back! _Life was never so terrifying with his relatives. He could stand to live with them, if only to never feel so alone again.

_There is no turning back now, child. You may only go forward._

_I'm scared._ He whispers.

_You are human. But you don't have to be._

_What?_

_I realize now that humans cannot survive here. Your kind are social creatures, unable to function efficiently in solitude. But you cannot leave here; you are not yet ready._

_So?  
Patience, child! Time means nothing here. I was getting to my point. So, we can make you...different. Like us, but not. And we would return you to normal when you left._

_Who is 'we'?_

_Myself, and the other constellations._

_And I... would become like you?_

_Yes. The Crow constellation has chosen to move on, to die, and nothing has filled it's place. The God it used to serve, Kyprioth, is the Trickster God and even gods become lonely._

_I would be the new Crow? _He sounded pleased with the idea.

_You would, until I think you are ready to join the Mortal Realm._

_Is that where we just were?_

_No. Your home is called the Human Realm. The Mortal Realm is between the God's Realm, which is where all gods and Immortals reside, and the Human Realm. It protects them from each other. And right now we are in the Star Realm, where the constellations live and watch over all three realms. We help to keep order by advising the creatures of each. And there is the Peaceful Realm, where Everyone and everything goes when it moves on. What is there and what is beyond is a mystery whose answer is known only by the Death God._

_I never knew things were so complicated. _He said, in awe. _And I would get to be like you._

_Yes. I will teach you our ways, if you choose to become one of us._

_I will. I want to be like you, Mr Cat._

He got the impression the cat was smiling. _In the Mortal Realm, I am currently known as Pounce. _It offered.

_Do you know my name, Pounce? _The boy asked hopefully.

_No, and I cannot give you one. Names that are Star-given or God-given have far too much power over the ones they are given to. You shall have to wait until you go to the Mortal Realm, where you may be given a Human-name._

_Okay. _He sounded saddened. _Can I be a constellation now?_

_It may hurt._ Ponce warned, before the little boy felt like he was on fire, and once again he fell into the void.

* * *

The next time the boy awoke, it was to the same dark nothingness. Except that now it didn't feel so empty; he could feel others, almost like seeing them, because he knew they were there, but only one sense told him so. One felt like Pounce, but that was the only familiar one.

_Welcome back, child._ Pounce said.

_Pounce? Did it work?_ the boy asked, unsure. He didn't feel much different.

_Yes. You are the Crow constellation now. These are the others. _Pounce told him. _They want to meet a son of the Banished Gods. And one that I have taken in._

_What?_

_Long ago, there were eighteen gods who chose to break our every rule and interfere with the other realms directly. The remaining gods gathered all of their power and were able to banish them to the Human Realm, stripped of their powers. No one could have guessed that they would be so human as to love mortals, and have children with them. Their children retained many of the god's powers, and over time their number has grown great. In the Human Realm, there is an entire society held secret from non-magic people. You are part of this society of 'wizards' and 'witches', and you are powerful by their standards. Their magic has evolved over time into something completely different from that of the original gods._

_So, the weird things that happen sometimes are my fault?_

_Somewhat. Those powers are beyond your control and will be for years yet, so right now your magic is tied into your subconscious, where it will come should you ever need it. Becoming a constellation has changed your magic, perhaps permanently. _

_And they want to meet me, because of my great-great-great-great-great-great--_

_Yes. _Pounce cut him off.

_Are they nice? _The boy asked in a small voice.

_Some can be very childish, some very cunning. And some are kind and good. We are as varied as humans, child, and you would do well not to form prejudices._

_What kind of constellation are you, Pounce? _He asked.

Pounce thought it was good that the boy was coming out of his shell enough to question things that should be questioned. _I am one of the oldest, one of the wisest. I am respected by most, and keep order among us. I also like to think I am fair and just in the way I deal with things._

The boy smiled, though he had no body with which to do it._ I think you're nice, Pounce. I want to meet the others, too._

Pounce smiled sadly at the child. He would learn, in time, that no constellation was _nice_.

One of the other beings stepped up and introduced itself as the Dog, currently known in the Mortal Realm as Fang and in service to Mithros. His parting comment worried the boy: _I hope to see what it was that made the Cat choose you, child._

Did these beings expect things from him? What would happen if he couldn't do what they wanted? Would they send him back? Already, he felt more at home here than he ever had at his relatives'. He dreaded the time when he would fail them, because he knew that day would come. He wasn't good enough for any of this, he didn't deserve any of this. He would disappoint Pounce and be sent back to his relatives and how could he have ever thought he could have something this good--

_Child!_ Pounce shouted. _Calm yourself! We would not expect you to do anything you are not able to, and if there is something you cannot do then we will teach you how. We are not cruel, and we will not cause you harm._

The child nodded, quiet.

_There are others who wish to meet the new Crow._

He turned his attention to the next constellation to approach. There were many others, and introductions would take a long time.

* * *

_You have now met our kindred, child. What do you think of them? _Pounce asked.

_They all seem okay. I like the Rat, he seems funny. And the Hyena was very... interesting._

Pounce gave a small laugh. _Yes, she is usually described that way. She is in the Crone's service, who doesn't get along very well with Kyprioth, the Trickster God and the one you serve. They are always arguing over domain._

_What do you mean by service, Pounce? _The boy asked. He thought of the services he had done for his relatives, cleaning and cooking and tending.

_Nothing that you are thinking of, child. It means that you watch over that god, to make sure they do not step outside their bounds. You also help the god to accomplish things in the Mortal Realm, to watch over the god's Touched humans and help them complete their tasks. You are the god's companion and confidant._

_That sounds... okay, I guess. _The boy said, unsure.

_I will teach you to do these things, and to use Star-magic, before you are brought to meet Kyprioth. I warn you, you must be willing to put up with his ways. He is sometimes childish, and he favors the Raka of the Copper Isles in the Mortal Realm. He enjoys thieving from the other gods and may even depend on you to cover his tracks. Usually, we constellations do not discuss our god's doings with each other, but if you ever need help, you are welcome to come to me. The work will be hard, but I promise you it will be worth it._

_Alright, Pounce. Can we start now? _The child said, excited. Hard work was something he knew, something he could do. He wasn't afraid anymore.

_Yes, child. Let us begin._

* * *

The Crow learned quickly, though it was difficult to judge time in a Realm where it had no hold. He learned fast enough that the Cat was pleased with his progress, which was very fast indeed. Pounce was a demanding teacher. The boy enjoyed every moment of it.

The Cat showed him how to travel between Realms, by focusing his mind. And once there, how to form himself a body. He chose a cat's form, at first, because Pounce was right there for him to reference. The constellations had no way to use their power in their own realm, which was an endless void, and so had to go to one of the other realms in order to practice. The Crow found that he was just as immortal as any other constellation, and was able to shape shift, possess humans and creatures, and even influence minds. All were useful skills for a Trickster God's companion.

Once the Crow got a handle on his abilities, Pounce taught him the laws that the gods abide by. The boy learned them inside out and upside down, and all of the little loopholes his god was likely to exploit. His duty was to help Kyprioth as much as possible, and keep him in line. That meant being the deciding force on what was going too far, like locking away Mithros' companion constellation for a while (which Kyprioth had done. It was the final straw that led to the previous Crow deciding to move on to the Peaceful Realm). So the Crow had to know when to stop his god, and what was accepted as wiggle room where the law came into play.

Finally, it was time for him to meet the Trickster God.

* * *

From here I'll show the meeting with Kyprioth, who will say that he knew of the Crow's father's work in the Human Realm and that he thought it was good. I'll skip around their time together a little, about ten years, though Crow won't have aged physically when he returns to mortal form. While he is with Kyprioth he will help pull off several pranks on the other gods and develop a mischievous streak. He will also meet the Crone, think she's bat-shit crazy, and get along with her just fine. I envision his humanity bringing changes to the way constellations view the realms (as something to be interfered with only occasionally, and never to get attached to). And after all of this he leaves his position as the Crow, and is introduced to Beka by Pounce, who claims that Crow is his adopted son and that Beka will take care of him, because after all, Crow is still physically a five-year-old boy.

His magic changes depending on whether he's in the Mortal Realm, where it is like Wild Magic in the Immortals Quartet (he can shape shift, speak to animals, possess them, and long-term exposure to his magic makes them self-aware and sentient) and in the Human Realm it is a normal wizard's.

I'll have him grow up with Beka, trying to decide between being a Dog (guardsman, like Beka) or a Rat (criminal). He gets along fine with Rosto, King of the Rogue, who is like his favorite uncle or second father-figure. Beka is like his mother. He'll eventually choose, at the age of ten, to not become either; he will instead join the menagerie of animals that follow Beka around the city on her Dog duties. His most common form is a crow, though he also enjoys the intimidation effect of a gigantic wolf stalking alongside three Dogs, ready to take down anybody stupid enough to run.

Then Pounce comes on the day of his eleventh birthday, and tells him that it is time he returns to the Human Realm, to learn of their world and their ways and their magic, and at the end of six years spent partially in both he will choose which one he wants to stay in permanently, with no more switching between the two allowed.

So, if anyone wants to adopt this and change it up as much as they want, fine with me.


	2. Chapter 2

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

"And if you aren't finished by seven, you'll be locked out!" Harry's aunt had told him. He wasn't completely sure about the time, but the sun's angle suggested that she'd said that at about six-thirty, which gave him not nearly enough time to trim the (already perfect) hedges, cut the (already cut and clippings raked away) grass, and weed the (spotless) garden. Even perfection was just a little too imperfect for his aunt.

But Harry knew a secret; she gave him outside chores to keep him out of the house and away from Vernon, she locked him outside nearly every night to give him more freedom and comfort than the confines of the cupboard allowed, and she didn't hate him very much at all. She hated his eyes, which were his mother's eyes, and she hated his hair, which was the only thing she couldn't control. But Harry himself never bore the brunt of that hate. He kept his head down and often out of sight.

The nights when she locked him out were always warm; he thought she must watch the weather channel to make sure. Now it was about eight at night, and he was laying in the shed's shadow, looking up at the stars. The grass was prickly beneath him, freshly cut, but he didn't really mind. Harry was content, which was as close to happiness as he should ever hope to be. But like most little boys, he hoped and wished for things he shouldn't.

Harry picked out a star, a small one, because other people probably had better wishes than his and should get the better stars, and wished for happiness.

He wouldn't get it for a very long time.

The Dog had watched the human boy for a long time. The child was important, somehow, to one of his Touched, so he kept tabs. There wasn't much else for a star to do except watch the Mortal Realm, and grant the occaisional wish. Some of them, the older ones, even did prophecies.

The Dog turned away from the Mortal Realm, to the place where all stars gathered to speak. It didn't actually have a name, and whenever they gathered to decide on one they could never agree. That was what you got when you needed a unanimous vote in a society of thousands.

At the Speaking Place, he gathered the attention of all the other stars with a flare of his light.

"What is it, Dogstar?" Asked the Phoenix. He was one of the oldest stars, right up there with the Dragon and the Thestral.

"I have been watching the Mortal Realm more closely of late, and one mortal in particular. A child known to his people as Harry Potter."

"I know of him." The Stag volunteered. "He is the son of my last Touched. I had planned to give his soul my mortal form; his father served me well."

The Dog nodded. "Yes, but I would rather we grant him a wish."

The others murmured quietly among themselves. They did not grant wishes often or lightly, and it was a dangerous business. The wrong wish to the wrong human could end in catastrophe.

"And what wish would that be?" Asked the Phoenix.

"Happiness." The Dog said simply.

"That is not in our power to give, as you well know, Dogstar. Not only would it upset the Balance imeasurably, but there is also the matter of free will." The wise Phoenix told him, not unkindly.

"I do know." He accepted, "But it is within our power to give him the chance to be happy."

"What do you propose?" The Phoenix questioned, interested. The others seemed content for him to be their spokesperson.

"That we send him to the Monster Realm. Before you deny, consider this: I have watched him, and I know the rigidity of the Mortal Realm will kill him. And the Balance says-"

They all recited it in unison, like it was by design. Knowing the star's flair for dramatics, it very well might have been. "The greater the danger the greater the reward. The greater the evil the greater the good. The brighter the light the darker the shadows."

The Phoenix looked considering. "We do not interfere for such a trivial reason as one human's happiness."

"I know, but his unhapiness is indirectly our fault. He is a child of your latest prophecy, involving Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, and Neville Longbottom. Because of our prophecy, his parents are dead and his body holds an evil man's soul."

"Very well. A vote to grant the wish of Harry Potter, to be as happy as the Balance allows!" The Phoenix shouted to the legions of stars. There was a roar that sounded like crackling fire, and all stars agreed.

"Go to the Mortal Realm, and offer him our gift." The Phoenix told the Dog.

He left the Star Realm, shooting down in a streak of light to the Mortal.

The Dog's mortal form was big and black. His paws ate up the remaining distance between himself and this human child (he'd never been known for his aim, and so landed a couple of miles off target). When he finally reached the right house, the Dogstar watched the boy some more. He had always loved the vividity of the other Realms; it was so different from the antiseptic black of the Stars'. He recalled one of their few legends, of a time when the stars took human form and walked among mortals. But that was so long ago it was in doubt, and it had been stopped when they realized that one could not live with humans and not love them.

Sonce then, they'd cut themselves off from any Realm but their own. The Dog was starting to wonder if that was a mistake.

Harry Potter seemed to become aware of his presence, so the Dog stepped out of the shadows under the bushes, rattling the branches and leaves slightly. The boy's head jerked over to look at him, and he didn't seem to be afraid. His forehead furrowed, and it took the Dog a second to realize this was a human thinking expression.

Then Harry's face cleared and he said, "Padfoot?" tentatively, like he wasn't really sure if that was what he meant to say.

Padfoot, the Dogstar recalled, was the given nickname of his Touched. What a strange choice, but then, no star had ever accused the wizards of creativity. "Not really." The Dog answered. He came to sit next to the boy.

Harry's hand slowly and carefully reached out to scratch him behind the ears. The Dog had to remind himself that the other stars were most likely watching and that falling into little gooey pieces for a human boy with magic fingers was not something stars did. "I have come to grant your wish." He said quickly.

"What?" The boy asked, surprised.

"The other stars and I have decided to grant your wish, to be happy."

Harry was astonished. "What?" He asked, unable to believe his ears.

The Dog sighed. He'd hoped this human would be a little more intelligent. "I am the Dogstar. I heard your wish and discussed it with the other stars, and we have decided to grant it."

"W-Why?"

"Because it's our fault that you are unhappy in the first place."

The child seemed to consider this. "Okay. How? And why?"

The Dog suddenly felt that he had chosen well, and this child would be very, very special.

He wasn't entirely sure how he'd managed it, but the Dog had convinced Harry that he really was a star and not a talking dog, that there were others like him, that Harry was truly of little consequence to them (the boy seemed to think that was as it should be) but they still felt a little responsible for him.

Harry hadn't jumped at the chance to leave, and the Dog wasn't sure he'd really expected the child to do so. Harry was a surprisingly practical little six-year-old, who knew that he had shelter, food, and protection right where he was. He was reluctant to leave security for insecurity, but he was the son of James and Lily, and they were both of them adventurous people. Harry decided to leave, but only when the Dog had promised to tell him about his parents and their friends. The Dog hadn't really kept a close eye on his Touched, but he thought the Stag did. When they got to the Star Realm, he'd have to ask the Stag for help.

"Okay, now get on my back, grab hold of my fur-ah, not so hard!-and hold on with your legs. Please try not to choke me, it's very uncomfortable." The Dogstar instructed.

Harry did as he was told, excitement swelling within him. He'd known there was something more in the world, but living stars who granted wishes were not among his dreams.

A bright light encompassed them, unseen by all but the two, and then they were shooting up into the sky, where it got very cold and very empty, until they went so fast they ripped through one Realm and into another. Harry fell into unconsciousness just before this.

All of the Realms are stacked atop one another, like layers on a cake. The Star Realm sat between the ones they called the Monster Realm, just below, and the Mortal Realm, right above. On the other side of the Mortal Realm was the Angel Realm, and the Demon Realm sat below the Monster. The further down the ladder, the closer the Realms were to Chaos, and the further up, the closer to Order. There were many Realms, but only those two nearest the star's were safe for exploration. Stars had been known to go mad too far into Chaos or Order.

So to get to the Monster Realm from the Mortal Realm, one had to pass through the Star Realm. This was where their problems began.

The Star Realm is a place of utter nothingness. There are no features or senses there, only consciousnesses that turned their attention alternately to other Realms or each other. Ancient legend said that the Star Realm came to be when the mortals on either side of them first looked to the sky and saw there Order and Chaos, and tried to harness it with names. Slowly, these things became aware, something that was _what _became _who_, _it _became _I_, _them _became _us_. And the Star Realm formed to hold these beings. In time, it might even evolve into something with distinguishable features. But for now it was a place of incorporeal beings with great power.

The Star Realm was not made for a mortal creature, with a body and a mind and a soul. Such a thing could not exist there for any length of time. Such a thing would have to change it's very self, or die.

Harry did a little bit of both.

The other stars could not have known it would happen. They'd never transported a mortal across Realms before, after all, and how could they know that even the two-second layover would be too long for Harry Potter to survive? He died the moment they entered the Star Realm. Of course, he didn't stay that way. Not for long.

Every star felt the momentary flare of life in their Realm, just before it was snuffed out. For a second they were overloaded with heat and fire and life, and it felt like everything they were missing. They turned to its source like moths looking to the fire, and found nothing.

The Dog had felt Harry die, too late to do anything about it. They arrived in Monster Realm, and the star found... _something_, where the boy had been. He was still puzzling over it (and feeling slightly disappointed and cheated), when the others shot down to the Monster Realm to join him. First was the Phoenix, and after him the Dragon and the Stag. The others stayed to watch from above.

"What is this?" The Stag asked.

"I'm not sure, but... James Potter and Lily Evans were wizards, correct? Magical?" The Dragon asked. She didn't really keep up with the Mortal Realm, preferring the Monster one.

"Yes, the both of them. James came from a long line of wizards, and Lily was... oh, my. A freshblooded witch." The Stag confirmed, with dawning realization.

"What, what?" Asked the Dog. He hated when the older stars somehow knew things he didn't.

"A freshblood's magic is... loose." The Phoenixstar spoke up. "It latches onto the mortal in infancy, for unknown reasons, and if all goes well the child is born with the ability for magic. But the magic isn't as anchored to their body as it is in the old blood. It's more inclined to... wander, and change. But magic is life, and nature does not create something willing to die. The magic still preserves the life of it's host at all costs. Even if it harms the host in the process."

The Dog held back a snippy 'Thank you for the lesson, that tells me completely _nothing_.' Instead, he said, "So? What does that mean?"

The Dragon looked at him like she'd heard his thoughts. Maybe she could. "It means that if he wakes up, he will not be human anymore. _If_ he wakes up."

They stood around watching the thing for a while. It looked like a dark puddle of squishy... goo. The Dog had a vague idea of rolling around in it, but turned his thoughts away from that when the Dragonstar jerked her head up to glare at him.

'She can definitely read minds. _Nyaaaah_!' He thought loudly. She might have smiled and muttered something about new stars, if the Dragon could be so un-stoic.

So they stood around and waited some more. It was a very good thing none of them had an accurate perception of time, and that they were both immortal and tireless, because they waited a very, very long time. About two months after coming to the Monster Realm, the gooey black mass (which the Dog had finally identified as something very close to Jello in both taste and texture) jiggled alarmingly, and moved about. Slowly, something rose up from the center, and the Jello slid away from it. It looked human, vaguely, somewhat, not really. Because it was far too beautiful to be human, and its hair was white and gold and silver (which the Dog _knew_ was not normal), and its eyes were (Lily's) green and (the sun's) gold. The four stars lost their unnecessary and collective breaths for a moment, stunned by the thing's beauty.

In that ungaurded instant, it siezed their minds and asked them without words, 'Whowhatwherewhyhow am I?'

And then its stunning, different colored eyes rolled into its stunning, different colored head, and it collapsed into the black Jello.

They had prepared an answer by the next time it woke. That was seven seconds later, enough time for them to ascertain that either the trip through the Star Realm had caused a defense mechanism to push Harry's memories into his subconscious, or the transformation had erased them. They then delved into his mind and found it a completely blank slate, which was very bad. The Dragon confirmed it.

"His magic threw off his name." She said.

"I thought it was supposed to protect him?" The Dog asked.

"Well, maybe it thought it was. It's not exactly intelligent." The Stag suggested.

"His magic is as loose as a freshblood's. He's lucky his name stuck young as it did, else he'd have been 'Boy' instead of 'Harry'" The Phoenixstar said.

"Well, came we give him his name back?" The Dog asked, kind of depressed. He had no idea that wish-granting got so complicated!

"No! Don't you even think it! Star-given names have far too much power over the one who bears it. He's a powerful thing, and I don't want to see him under anyone's control." The Dragon nearly roared. Then she let out a frustrated (and firey) sigh and added, "This is why we don't often meddle, you know! It nearly always gets all messy and twisted."

Then the thing woke up again, and they had to guard their minds. They'd been taken by surprise before, but now they were prepared. It brushed their minds, tried to take hold, and when it failed it pulled away. The thing opened its mouth, like it was going to speak, then got a strange look on its face and reached back into the Jello, before pulling out a snake whose scales matched its hair. It looked at the snake with an expression that said 'Now what the hell were you doing down _there_?', and the Dog _really_ didn't want to know where it had pulled the snake from. He could already see the thing was shirtless, and it was a safe bet it was naked under all the goo.

It dropped the snake, which seemed ofended and hissed something unpleasant, before slithering away. It even managed to look indignant. The human-like-thing-that-was-certainly-not-human turned back to the stars and hissed in snake-tongue.

**Who am I?** It asked. **What am I? Who are you why are you here where is here why am I here-**

The Dog settled in for a long explanation.

Thankfully, telepathy was the main communication of stars, and they had perfected its art to faster than even light. It took roughly two minutes of thought to fill the thing (now known to be male) with an amount of knowledge that would have normally taken fourteen years to learn.

Most of it came from the Dragon, who was the most familiar with the Monster Realm.

forty-two in this newest batch to make it through the Wastes. Death did a headcount and sent them on their way. He looked down at his list-really, so much more convienient than remembering it all-and saw that he was expecting sixty-nine in the next group. They passed through the Gate, in the tireless trudge that got really old, really fast. Death sometimes wished for change, which didn't happen in his realm. He counted, marked the list, and sent them on their way.

Woah, wait a sec-there were only sixty-eight in there! Someone was lagging behind. Someone who had bean meant to die had not. Death angrily crumpled his list, threw it down, and stormed through the Gate. Now Death had to go find this insolent little soul, take it back with him, and deal with all of the souls who had piled up outside the Gate in his abscence. He _hated_ it when living people stayed alive.

* * *

**Make Like A Tree**

A little boy lays in the cool shade beneath a perfectly trimmed bush. His fingers are dug into the mulch and his eyes are closed, but there are drying tear tracks running from the corners of his eyes. His dark hair is spread in a messy halo about him, and there are broken, beaten glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He could be no more than eight or nine years old.

His name is Harry Potter, and he is imagining.

He wants to be away, he doesn't want to be here. His little fingers grip the earth even stronger. He thinks of his fingers growing into the dirt, expanding like roots and taking hold. He thinks of bursting into leaves and branches, and becoming a big, strong tree. No one will harm him. He will never be afraid again.

* * *

**Regrets**

"Go on, wave it!" Oliver encouraged young Rose Potter. She was to get her wand today, and Dumbledore knew which one was right for her. It was the brother wand, the only one that would work for her, for she was tied to Voldemort by the failure of the infallible-

Swish.

Rose happily waved the wand in the air before her. And from the tip poured something scaled and slim, curving back on a body made of pure muscle, winding up that eleven-inch wand, rearing to strike-

Rose dropped the wand, screaming, just before the black serpent could bite her. It dropped to the ground, hissing indignation, coiled tightly around the wand and refusing to allow anyone to touch it.

The wand was not meant for Rose Potter, but then whose could it be? Neville fit the prophecy but he had not been attacked that night and the only other possibility was-

Dumbledore suddenly felt very, very cold.

_What have I done?_

They had watched, discretely, for the first year after his placement there. But the boy was accepted wholely into their home, without bitterness. Lily was just glad she'd managed to patch things up with her sister, or else Harry's life with them would have been far worse. And the Dursleys were her only blood relatives, so he had to go with them, to be safe.

She and James had not wanted to let him go at first, but Dumbledore made them see sense; if he was with the Dursleys then he would be safe. It was so sad, after all, that Petunia couldn't have children, and so she jumped at the chance to have Harry.

Harry, who could not live with the Potters because he had no magic.

Dumbledore had been the first to say it: Harry would be a weakness as he grew up. Despite their attempts to assure him of their love, he would probably believe himself lesser than his magically powerful twin, he might even resent her enough to try to do her harm. And how broken would they be if their son went on to become Dark? Or if he was killed because he had no powers and they could not protect him? It would destroy them. This way, Harry got to grow up as a muggle child, and he would never know of magic, never envy his twin sister, never have to live with the terror of the Dark Lord's return.

By the end of Dumbledore's explanation, Lily was seriously thinking about sending Rose to live with the Dursleys as well, it just sounded that reasonable. And so Harry went. And he was happy.

Rose, on the other hand, knew she had a twin, and knew why that twin lived with her Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. She sometimes wanted to see her older brother, but couldn't. The Dark had to think Petunia and Lily despised each other, so that they would never try to use Lily's sister against her. But Rose grew up happy and only slightly spoiled by her mother and three fathers. She was well-schooled in the Marauding ways before Hogwarts even started, and James had secretly promised to teach her to become an Animagus starting in third year-if she got good grades. And he would know, because Lily taught Charms.

And then things went wrong in her happy life, because the wand had rejected her more violently than any other Olivander had ever seen. That snake had had to be forcibly removed, and it still had yet to disappear, like any normal summoned thing would.

She was not the prophecy child.

Somehow, she felt very relieved.

Neville tried The Wand, just to be safe. And then it was the first thing Ollivander offered every other student to come into his wand shop, just in case. And then they gave it to a few of the under-Hogwarts-age kids and some kids who were already in Hogwarts and had wands of their own. By the time there was no shadow of a doubt in any of their minds, they had about a thousand various dangerous creatures The Wand had created, and Ollivander's shop had been rebuilt seventeen times. And finally, with little hope left, they went to the Dursleys.

Who had died about six years earlier in a horrific car accident.

Two bodies were found.

There was yet hope.

They found him a week later, and it was far too late.

It took a blood-calls-to-blood ritual, borderline illegal, to find him. None of Dumbledore's traces were working, none of their spells would take, and even Fawkes couldn't find the boy, though it seemed like he hardly tried. Rose, being his twin, was the one to donate the blood. And she had to lead them to her older brother.

"He's... um... I know it..." She tried to keep the knowledge with her, even as it swept away like a dream. "A forest... somewhere... I know it." Rose's eyes flew open. "I know where Harry is."

They comb the forest thoroughly, and find nothing. Then they do it again, just to be sure. After the third search, they have given up. Rose must have gotten the wrong forest, or whoever has been taking care of Harry has moved him already.

James turns to his wife, ready to face facts. She is nearly blind with worried tears, and he envelopes her in a hug. It takes the both of them several minutes to realize Rose is no longer by their side.

_Oh God, have they lost her too? not Rose not Rosie, where is Rose ohgod is she gone_-

Their panicked thoughts are cut off by the sound of their daughter's sweet little voice.

"Mum, Dad?" Her voice sounds close to crying. "Can you help him?"

They cannot turn to see her fast enough. She is fine, but her hands are holding the mane of fur around a wolf's neck.

Lily nearly faints.

"Can you help Harry?" Rose asks. The wolf bares its teeth at them.

* * *

**Wizard Games**

Harry ducked the stunner, and sent one of his own racing across the battlefield.

"'Mione, how's Ron?" He called over his shoulder, carefully keeping an eye out for incoming attacks.

"Almost good enough to go back in!" She told him, ducking her head as an unidentified spell zoomed over it. Ron flexed his hand, which had just been broken and fixed by their medic, Hermione. Then he grasped his wand and sent a hex back at the caster.

"Neville, how's that shield coming?" Harry shouted.

"More time!" The stressed boy nearly screamed at him.

Harry pulled a potion from his robe pocket, and tossed it over their defensive wall.

"What was that?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Neville made it."

Ron paled. "Harry! Are you _trying_ to kill us all?"

Just then, an explosion rocked the earth.

"Ah... maybe I should have tested it first...?"

Harry poked his head over the wall, and yelled, "Alright, guys! Game's over!"

* * *

**Nails**

Harry Potter was an average little boy. He got normal grades in school, he did all the chores around the house but he didn't mind because it was better to be busy than just sitting around. He liked to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs because it was small and cozy and away from his relatives.

Harry didn't much like his relatives. They were cold, except for Dudley, who wasn't at all. The rotund boy was burning, with anger at the world. What had caused this, Harry could never be quite sure. But Dudley's dearest wish was to live on an island made of sugary delights, waited on by a loving Aunt Petunia and an Uncle Vernon who never came home from work fuming and mean, who never left in the first place. Harry sometimes walked in Dudley's dreams.

But he liked his aunt's and uncle's dreams best. They were Adults, they knew Things about the world. Vernon's work seemed very hard in his dreams, always trying to impress people and make a better life for his family. Petunia dreamed of her garden, which she had just started teaching Harry to keep. She told him sternly to do _this_ and _that_ and _be careful _with it, this was expensive. She was always displeased, no matter how perfectly Harry did something.

But Harry knew a Secret.

(Harry knew lots of secrets. Things he shouldn't_ (couldn't)_ know.)

Harry's Secret was that his aunt wasn't really that mean. Because she had to know that every time he was scolded was a time Dudley got to laugh at him without pushing him down or kicking him. She had to know this and did it to save him. So every time he just smiled and promised he would do it better next time.

(When she didn't dream of flowers, Petunia had nightmares. Of green eyes and red eyes and a _name _that could have ended her family. A world she pretended didn't exist at all.)

* * *

**Tails**

Demons can't reproduce with other demons; they require humans for the process. And Kyuubi, not about to trust a child of its power to be carried by a weak human female, takes a permanent human form, invading and exterminating the life of the soon-to-be-born Lily Evans while still in the womb. When this body dies it will be released into full-power spirit form once again. It goes through life as a human, and finds a powerful mate in a human male named James Potter, from a long line of wizards. It chooses this human to be the father of its child. And thus Harry Potter the half-demon is born.

Kyuubi makes a note to change the boy's name after their human bodies have died.

Voldemort comes and kills all of them, releasing their spirits, and the first thing Kyuubi does is obliterates Voldemort's human form, and destroys his spirit, but there are pieces of it left in the world. It takes Harry to the Elemental Countries and they live and Harry is trained for five years (makes him six) until Kyuubi is influenced by Madara to attack Konoha and winds up bound into Naruto. Harry keeps training without his father, and when he deems himself strong enough he travels to Konoha to kill Naruto and release his father. Only to find that the blond human is a lot harder to hate in person.

* * *

**Serpent**

Fawkes landed gracefully next to the dying boy, already summoning a part of its own life essence to drip onto the deathly-still form. The crystal tear of pure phoenix-magic gathered in the corner of one eye. He leaned over the child, blinked. Watched the teardrop fall as if in slow motion.

Just inches above Harry Potter's skin, the drop froze as freezing cold and icy winds erupted from him, catching the shocked phoenix and flinging his wings open wide. A rather undignified squawk later, Fawkes had managed to fold his wings and let himself be bouyed along by the raging blizzard that had exploded from the child. Black, inhuman eyes turned to watch a frozen phoenix teardrop-hot as phoenix-fire, hot as fiendfyre, too hot to be frozen by anything natural-clattered to the ground beside Harry.

Then a scream that lasted for a long time, ripping itself from the convulsing body. It was low and high and gravelly and smooth, and everything in between. The winds pulled at the boy's loose robes, strong enough to lift him completely into the air. Ice formed on every surface instantly, the pools of water froze into jagged spikes. Fawkes did his best to steer away from these with his tail, riding out the storm.

The chill was reaching deeper into the caverns, walls groaning worryingly as the minute traces of water within them suddenly froze and expanded all at once. On the surface, Dumbledore suddenly realized why the sight of fleeing spiders made him think of roosters and pipes. From there, it was only a moment to connect that with Basilisks, and another to realize that a girl had died of unknown causes, many years ago, in a bathroom.

The Chamber of Secrets had been found for the second time in a day.

But when Dumbledore finally blasted the sink open, it was just a little too late.

* * *

"You can't keep a secret from the seeker." The boy hissed. Sometimes the union of a muggleborn and a pureblood causes strange powers to arise in the child.

* * *

**Serenity**

"Ain't no power in the 'verse can stop us now." River said to Serenity.

breakline

"How long 'til we reach Persephone, mei-mei?" Mal asked, taking the steps up to the bridge two at a time. He stopped short.

River was under the main console, buried in mechanics up the her elbows.

"Uh." Mal said. "What're you doing to my ship?"

"Fixing her. She can go faster."

"She goes plenty fast right now so if you'll just put everything back the way it was-"

"Wrench." River said, holding a hand out as if expecting Mal to retrieve it for her. Mal was going to do no such thing, but the decision was taken out of his hands as the tool soared across the room to land in the girl's open palm. "Thank you."

Mal's mouth opened, closed, and then he turned on his heel and left. _I did not just see that. I didn't. Why am I not believing myself? More than that, why am I not more surprised? Is this how wierd my life is going to be from now on?_

_Where's that gorram doctor? He'd better have an explanation for this._

_

* * *

_**Animagi**_  
_

It's an obscure, but known fact that magical animagus forms do exist, but the transformation can only happen once and the wizard is stuck in that form. These wizards are rare and most of them consider the loss greater than the gain.

In his fifth year, Harry and his friends ask Sirius to help them with the transformation, hoping to teach at least the basics to the DA. Harry finds his form quite easily... and none of them know that the magical animagus transformation is one-way.

Note: Fawkes is a good friend of Dumbledore's who took his phoenix form to save Dumbledore from a fatal wound. Ron doesn't expect Hermione to have a form because she doesn't come from a bloodline, but she does and he cites the 'nothing is impossible when you're within forty feet of Harry-Bloody-Potter. Ron's form is a caracal and Hermione's is a wolf. At first they think Harry's is an Asian dragon, but it turns out to be a river spirit. and he needs a home river to survive.

* * *

**Reflect**

Something in Harry is broken; as a result, everything he feels-pain, joy, sorrow, rage-is felt by everyone else around him. And sometimes, it kills.

* * *

**King of Wolves**

AR. There have always been legends about wolves who walk on two legs and speak human tongues, but the dark King Voldemort doesn't believe them. Until he finds a cub half-dead on a hunt in the Forbidden Forest...

breakline

There have always been dog fights in the King's City. They are often unfair, always brutal, and never humane, but people don't come to see a fair fight, a clean fight. They want blood and death and gore. If it were humans fighting it would be the same, but for now they have dogs.

And the Mistwood wolves.

Mistwood has long since been lost, but the wolves taken from it live on in the Forbidden Forest. They are unlike the varying types of dogs in that every wolf is pitched black, and larger than any dog, and more vicious. The Mistwood wolves win in five-on-one fights because they are different.

It is very hard to hold a Mistwood wolf. This may or may not have something to do with their legendary ability to turn into mist or-and this one is whispered because no one wants to speak it aloud-to walk on two legs with skin like moonlight and stars for eyes.

The outer towns have stories. In these stories, travelers come upon entire towns that seem to have vanished in the night. Doors are opened, blood smears the inside of the house. Not a soul is left alive.

The Mistwood wolves, these stories say. And on the full moon, no one in the outer towns answers a knock at the door.

But to the King's City, these are just folk tales made by peasants to scare peasants. Mistwood wolves are nothing more than vicious dogs who can always be counted on to tear another dog apart. They're the reason the Forbidden Forest is forbidden.

Except, as King, Voldemort doesn't have to follow this rule. He takes six knights out into the forest with him one day, on a hunt to clear out the monsters around the city.

He returns with three knights and a Mistwood wolf pup.

The pup's name is Harry. He is to be Voldemort's personal fighting dog but something happens. Something changes. Suddenly Harry isn't in his kennel with the King's other dogs, but trotting along at the King's heel. He lays under the table at dinner, at first a small thing pressed against the King's legs and then bigger, growing, prowling under the long table. Up and down. At first this frightens the King's nobles, but in time they come to trust the Mistwood wolf.

Harry does fight, but only when his master is sure he can win. He always wins. Under the dinner table he licks scraps from the nobles ladies' hands and listens to the voices above him. Always disembodied. Always faceless, but he doesn't need sight to tell them apart. When he is done the wolf returns to the King's side. Now he is big enough that when he sits up Voldemort's hand rests comfortably on his head.

(Comfortable for the King. It makes Harry's fur stand on end and his throat feels like growling.)

The King's castle holds many secrets. The most well-kept of them is the boy, about thirteen, who has been given tutors by the King himself. These tutors have taught the boy everything they know and he has devoured it. When that is done the tutors vanish and are never seen again. The boy is not a servant or a noble's son. He roams the castle freely and disappears around corners.

Another well-kept secret is the room where he sleeps. It is behind a painting that swings outward, revealing a tunnel just barely big enough to fit a body through. Inside the room beyond there is a bed, a desk, and a shelf. Trinkets clutter every corner of the room, everything from precious jewels dug out of necklaces and rings to particularly shiny knuts.

And the most-kept secret of the King's castle is one only two people know. The boy's name is Harry.

King Voldemort is not a stupid man. He is brilliant, in fact. But he is also human and he makes the mistake of thinking that, because Harry takes human form, Harry is human also.

Harry is not.

He is a Mistwood wolf, and if more of the lore reached the city the King would know that Mistwood wolves run in packs, and that the packs are led by the strongest member, and that at about the age of fourteen the adolescent wolves begin to challenge the alpha.

It starts off small.

A refusal of a simple command; what will you do if I defy you this? Voldemort's voice hardens and fear of the alpha takes hold of Harry again. The disobdience leaves his mind. It comes back.

Then he runs and doesn't come when called. The King's voice promises him a punishment when he returns, but Harry is starting to notice some things. The old King's waning musculature, for one. The signs of age and frailty. The faint tremble of his hands when he reaches across his desk. How quickly the King becomes tired and out of breath.

In a moment, the illusion of power is broken. Harry has spent his entire life serving a human who couldn't have hurt him if he tried. He has suffered because of his fear. Now he thinks to ask himself what the worst is that could happen to him. And the answer is death, and it's not a good enough answer.

Voldemort can almost feel his control over Harry slipping through his fingers.

He loses control completely in the same moment Harry-the-wolf walks into his throne room and, in full view of the court, becomes Harry-the-mystery-boy.

* * *

**Priceless**

Envy, a demon in the employ of Hell, is one of the best Corrupters to be found. But he's bored. He wants a challenge. He wants a soul that's not for sale, and Harry Potter's soul is priceless.

Corruption

"Sir,"

"Envy, I just heard of your work with that man in Russia. Good job."

"Thank you sir. But I'm actually here to ask permission to take on another student."

"Already?"

"Yes. I want a challenge. Manipulating humans... it's getting too easy. They practically sell their own souls. I want to turn an untainted soul."

"You know that's not possible, Envy. Untainted souls are not for sale."

"I think I've found a way."

Claws

Harry Potter is by no means a normal boy, and he knows it. His relatives know it. They try very hard to keep this knowledge from expanding further. Until the night Harry Potter vanishes from his bed and something in his relative's minds makes them think he died in a car accident. They pretend to be broken up about it for a while, and then resume life.

But that isn't what happened. This is:

Harry, ten years old, lives in the cupboard under the stairs. He stays up late to sneak out and get a snack, and then returns to his refuge. He turns the bare overhead bulb on and stares at the inside of his cupboard, watches the spiders go about their lives.

He hears scratching at his door.

Hesitant, curious, he pushes it open. On the other side is the front hall and nothing else. Then a woman drops into his vision like she had always been there. Her hair is dark red, her eyes as green as his own. He knows this woman.

"Mum?" He asks it like he can't believe it.

The woman smiles. "No, beloved, I am not your mother."

"But..." That little hope is crushed, but Harry recovers. "Then who are you?"

"My name is Enveline." The woman says. She holds out one hand to him. "I can take you away from this place. I can take you to my home. I have been preparing it for you for a long time - I'm sorry I didn't come collect you sooner. You'll have your own room, all the food and toys you could want. You will never be denied. You will be happy."

"I... I don't know." Harry stared at the offered hand. Why is he hesitating? There is nothing in this place for him. This life has nothing and he could have everything. "Yes. I'll come with you."

He takes the hand and barely notices the feeling of unseen claws closing around his thin wrist.

Home

Enveline's house is beautiful to Harry's eyes. It speaks of mysteries, hidden hallways and secret rooms that he will stumble upon. It is built from shades of red and gray; often Harry pretends that he is walking through the heart of a great, dormant volcano, and the arched ceilings and circular doorways only add to this fantasy.

Harry has all the things the woman promised him and more. He spends time merely running through the house, because he can. He destroys things because he can and does whatever he feels like doing, all the things he could never do before.

Until the day when, finally, he cannot think of one thing he wants to do. He has grown lonely in Enveline's house, even with her comfortable omnipresence. Then he sits in his room and realizes that for a long time he has done absolutely nothing. In the Dursley's house, he at least had the ambition to someday escape it. Here, where he has everything, Harry has also found that he has nothing.

No purpose.

This is when Enveline appears and offers him the first deal.

Bargain

"Do you want friends, Harry?"

"Yes! More than anything, yes!"

"But what if they take you away from me? I'd be all alone."

"...oh. Maybe my friends could come here. When I meet some, first. And if they like me. Not many people like me."

"Nonsense. They'll love you. I already know a few boys and girls who would love to meet you."

"Can I meet them? Can they be my new friends?"

"Of course, Harry. But first you have to do something for me."

"Anything!"

"You have to promise to stay with me, always."

"I'd never leave you, Enveline."

"I know you wouldn't, Harry. I know."

Five

It is the perfect number, Enveline thinks. Five children. Four souls to take and one to earn, slowly, through small corruptions and white lies. They are there for not even a week before she has them competing, fighting, hurting each other. Harry, poor and innocent Harry, does not understand the other children. He does not understand what drives them and that makes him feel like he is something wrong. That makes him insecure and vulnerable.

Not even a week and already it is working. Harry goes to her with his petty problems, his questions, and he starves for her attention because the others will not give him theirs. He isn't so sure he wants friends any more, but saying it would make him even more freakish and so he doesn't tell Enveline. He wants her to love him and she could never love a freak.

The children scrabble among themselves for the chance to be her favorite, and she lets each think it is him or her self. Except for Harry. He is always there when she gives someone else an affectionate pat on the head, always there when she has an encouraging word for anyone else. Him she starves, knowing that it will only drive him further.

He is not so different from the other children after all.

Enveline gives them gifts, small tokens. The first one is always free. The next comes when they have tired of the first and want more, and it is much more expensive. It costs them their soul, and after this every other bargain seems small in comparison.

She does not ask Harry to sell his soul to her. It is yet pure, so white that to hold it would burn her.

Faust

"I don't want to go back there."

"I know. What I want from you is small. You won't miss it."

"What? I'll give you anything."

"Anything? Then I want your soul."

"My... what?"

"It'll be in good hands. I'll take care of it for you. You won't even notice it's gone."

"But..."

"Do you want to go back to your father? Back to that little slum village, stealing food and running all the time. Do you want to face that thing your mother left behind when she died?"

"No! No. Okay. You can have it. Just - just don't send me back there. Not ever."

"I promise, I'll be here for you forever."

Selling your soul isn't something you do once and then it's gone forever. It's something you have to keep doing, every day.

* * *

**The Web**

Summer after fifth year. Harry can't find his wand, there's a Dementor sucking out his cousin's soul and another one trying to do the same to him. Desperate, he reaches for help with more than just his hand. The result: a stable, unbreakable seven-way mind link.

breakline

"Lumos!" Harry whispered breathlessly, hoping against hope that his wand was close enough.

Nothing. The chill seeped further into his skin, touching bone with the Dementor's closeness. His fingers were numb and his mind scrambled for a plan, a thought, anything, and came up empty.

Voices swelled in his ears. Screaming, pleading, speaking. Sirius's last moments flashed in his eyes, then were blanked out with bright green light, and then replayed.

When Harry realized he could make out a black, scabby face above him, mouth gaping like a black hole, it was already to late.

He fled. Not forward or backward or sideways, not up or down. Just out. Just spreading out in every direction, aware that he was covering miles in milliseconds and not caring because more than anything, he had to _get away_.

And then he was aware of finally finding solace. Sanctuary. It was in six different places, all radically unalike and distanced from each other, but to the thing that he had become distance had no meaning. Time and space were human constructs and there was only magic.

Then, with a _snap _like a released rubber band, Harry came back to his body.

Far away from Little Winging, six people sat up in their beds with one thought on their lips: Harry is in danger.

It was Mrs. Figg who saved them, it was later decided. Despite her being a squib, she had scared off the Dementors merely by showing up and waving her wand around. Note this: She did not cast a patronus charm. Not a wisp of white mist. But nonetheless the Dementors did not take either boy's soul.

When the Dementor released Harry, his soul came back to his body. Before that, it had exited his mouth and hovered between the two forms, and instead of being sucked in it dispersed. This happens once every ten or so victims. The problem with Harry is that not even then was he remotely normal, and a shard of Voldemort's soul remained tied to both his body and his own soul - a tether, if you will.

So that when the Dementor let go, the soul of Harry Potter recondensed and snapped back into his body where it belonged. But not in time. The soul, looking for a new container instinctively, expanded. It found six hosts, but none with room to fit it entirely. It split - souls can do this - but did not sever. Like the strands of a spider's web, it remained connected and whole while its true body was inhospitable, and returned when it could.

But it left Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Luna, Neville and Draco permanently changed.

All of this was discovered after the fact, of course.

At the time, these seven young adults were just trying to figure out why they were hearing each other's thoughts.

It started immediately after Harry woke up, but faded soon after. Half an hour of discussion, in which nobody was sure they weren't still asleep or hallucinating, and then it faded. They thought it had disappeared, or really just been a dream.

Except for two people - Ron and Ginny. They lived in the same house, and their link did not go away. A few owls later, Hermione and Harry were both speeding on their way to Grimmauld place. The Golden Trio (plus one) would handle this among themselves until such time as someone was dead, dying, or getting there.

_What the hell is this? _Harry thought._ I mean, no offense, but I really don't want to hear your thoughts. Ron, you're disgusting. Hermione, I know far more than I ever wanted to know about how hard it is to be a woman and I will respect that forever just please stop marrating things._

"I've looked some things up, in my books and in the Black family library." Hermione said aloud. Through the link, she added, _While dodging many a Dark creature and at my own personal expense. Next time I'm bringing you two as body guards._

_Seriously, Herm, just talk like this. It's so much faster. _Ron, ever the lazy one, hadn't spoken aloud to them since the link formed. But mind-to-mind communication was definitely faster.

_Okay, fine. Maybe a look into my mind will help you understand this a bit better._ Hermione said. Her thoughts often ran along the same lines as her speech - but not like Ron, who seemed to voice everything as soon as it occured to him.

_It's a stable mind-link, from what I can tell. They can be formed a number of ways, but are usually unstable. In fact, the only way to make it permanent is to have it go seven different ways._

_Us four, Nev, Luna, and Malfoy_. Ginny ticked them off on her hand. _Damn. How do we get rid of it?_

_Uh, yeah, that's where I ran into a problem. The only known way to break a stable mind link is to kill one of the seven._

_Malfoy._ Ron volunteered right away.

_Good as that sounds, killing would get us put away in Azkaban_. Harry pointed out.

_Not you! They need you now, Harry, you could just say he was a Death Eater. They might even give you a medal for offing that slimy little ferret. _Ron sounded excited by the idea.

_Ron! I'm not killing anyone._

_Well then we're stuck like this._

_Until I find another way._

_Yeah, 'til then. Let's get to work. I'd rather not go to Hogwarts just to get another look into Loony's mind and Neville's creepy lonely-guy fantasies._

_Her name is LUNA and she's my friend! You're such a bloody prick!_

_OH MY GOD IF I DON'T GET SILENCE IN MY HEAD RIGHT NOW SOMEONE REALLY IS GOING TO HAVE TO DIE. AND YOU THREE ARE CLOSEST._

_Run, everyone, Capslock Potter's back!

* * *

_

**Quetzalcoatl's Curse**

**April 18, 1981**

**The Amazon, South America**

"What's that, Professor Fleming?" The young assistant asked.

Fleming, a reputed archaeologist and near-certified genius, held the orb of softly glowing golden light up to the sky.

"Aztec wizard's light source?" He suggested. "I've seen more interesting coprolites, to be honest. Throw it in with the other stuff."

**July 31, 1981**

**Godric's Hollow, England**

"Sorry, sorry, I know I'm late." James said, kissing his wife on the cheek and smiling at the child in her arms.

"On your son's birthday." Lily reminded him forcefully. "Sirius and Remus showed up before you did. I'm starting to think I married the wrong Marauder. Perhaps I'll elope with Remus. He's always on time, at least."

"I remembered the gift, though." James offered. He pulled out an orb that glowed a soft golden color and waved it in front of little Harry's face. The baby's eyes followed it with intense interest, and he reached for it. The orb, which fit easily in James's palm, took up both of Harry's hands. He shook it a bit, then looked back up at James and giggled.

The orb quickly became Harry's favorite toy, the one thing he would go nowhere without. Thus it caused quite a stir when it was unexpectedly lost one morning, not having been in Harry's bed when he woke up. James and Lily search for a week and could not find it.

James explained that he had gotten it from his job at the Dept. of Mysteries, and it was a harmless Aztec wizard's light source. It must have finally run out of power and vanished.

This is not what happened.

**September 24, 1981**

**Godric's Hollow, England**

"James, come quick! Look at him! Look at Harry!" Lily sounded so excited James tripped coming up the stairs. She stood in the doorway to Harry's room. James looked in to see his son, facing away from the door, with his hands in the air as toys danced through the air around him.

He was not crying, or laughing. He was silent, unnaturally so.

Harry twisted at the waist, the movement far too coordinated for a one-year-old child. He looked back at his parents with eyes that glowed bright gold.

"Oh." The breath rushed from Lily as the excitement slipped away.


	3. Chapter 3

**HPxNaruto**

Post-DH EWE Pre-Chuunin Exams Post-Zabuza. The Shinobi world is a massive Shadowrealm off of Earth, and the barrier is thinnest during All Hallow's Eve. Team 7, on their way home from the bridge-builder mission, stumbles into a tear (literally) and through it is Hogwarts, where Defense Professor and Deputy Headmaster Harry Potter's saving-people-complex starts kicking again.

* * *

**Clans of the Ice Land**

Creature!Harry Year Five AU. Harry's just sick. It's little more than a slight fever, loss of appetite, some nausea, until he falls asleep and wakes up two weeks later. Harry's not just sick.

**I will not die. It will be the world that ends. - Greek Philosopher**

Harry sets dinner on the table. Dudley's diet is going well but they're still eating salad every other night and just looking at the leafy green lettuce is making his stomach do flips and his throat close up.

"I'm not hungry." He says, standing there. Possibly Uncle Vernon will decide to make him eat anyway, as a form of cruel and unusual torture, or he could just let Harry go.

Instead it's Petunia who responds, frowning. "You didn't eat lunch, or breakfast, or dinner last night." She says. "Do you have a fever?"

'No, I'm fine' is the reflexive answer on the tip of his tongue, but then he thinks about the pulsing flashes of heat he's been getting all day, which rises in a wave, crests like fire in his brain, and then recedes to rise again almost a minute later. "Maybe." He admits.

"Then for God's sake go upstairs and stop spreading your sickness around to the rest of us." Vernon says.

Harry doesn't deign to point out that he made their supper with his bare hands and forgot to wash them before doing it. He hopes they all get horribly sick - this loss of appetite would certainly help Dudley's diet, and perhaps Vernon's, too.

* * *

He collapses into bed, suddenly very drowsy, and feels his room spin around him. Darkness collects in the corners of his eyes, slowly filling them until he is staring down two dark tunnels and can only see one small spot on his ceiling. Then that closes, too, and everything goes dark and very, very quiet.

* * *

Harry wakes up, briefly, so disoriented that he at first doesn't recognize where he is. Then the world settles into his bedroom, Aunt Petunia at his bedside asking in a firm, slightly worried voice, if he's okay. He doesn't know how long he's slept, but it must have been too long if Aunt Petunia came in, and he must look as much like Hell as he feels because she's actually concerned about him.

Then he closes his eyes and sleeps again.

* * *

The next few times he moves, Harry's not fully conscious. Petunia at first enters only every few hours to check up on him, but after she finds he has vomited blood onto the floor she's there nearly all the time, fretting, packing him down with ice because he's got a fever of about 120 degrees and he should be dead but he's just sick, just sick.

He expels so much blood over three days that she's sure he's dying. It's nine pints worth and she's sure she read somewhere that you can only lose four without dying. After his third day asleep, he stops throwing up blood and she thinks he's getting better.

Then his skin starts falling off.

It actually begins with his hair, which comes out in clumps. On the fifth day of his unnatural sleep (and he's gone far more than three days without water, and her mind again says _he should be dead_) she changes his bedsheets and finds white powder, which feels a lot like dust.

Dead skin cells, she surmises, and at first she doesn't worry but soon the skin that comes off isn't dead, it's alive and bloodless and underneath is something else that is not skin, but also not muscle. She puts on gloves and carts the flesh out in garbage bags.

The next morning his new skin has grown in: it is flexible but tough. On his arms it grows hard as rock, around the joints so that they can still flex, but the elbow is partially covered by a sharp chitin spike jutting from the forearm. It is like this on his legs as well, and the back of his neck is covered in segmented plates. In front of his temples on his forehead there are two holes in the armor-like covering. In two days there will be small, sharp, curved horns growing there. The new skin is white, the plates a darker gray.

Petunia flips him every other day, back to front to back, and the eighth day he is lying on his back when he moves more than he has in a long time: he groans, his eyes flicker, and he pushes himself back onto his stomach. She spots swelling on his back and concludes it must be painful to lie on.

By now, she knows that Harry is not just sick.

His fever continues and she still packs ice around him, moving him to the spare bathroom's tub to let the meltwater drain. Vernon grumbles about spending money on a faster icemaker but he has a promotion on the way and they can afford it. Still, she almost can't keep up with how fast Harry's temperature melts the ice.

His hair grows back over the eighth night, thicker, white with speckles of black like his owl's wings. It is down to his shoulders but Petunia has so much to do she doesn't bother cutting it.

The ninth night, while she is asleep, his wings erupt from his back with a spatter of clear, sticky fluid. They are small, about the size of folded newspapers, and an odd combination of bird and bat; featherd with more white and black on the top half, while the bottom is slate gray membrane and long bone supports. She wakes up and cleans the bathroom of the clear fluid, too tired and used to the strangeness to even react anymore. She merely waits for it to end, as she knows it must.

Harry is changing, Petunia knows.

On the tenth day, as she is maneuvering him out of the bathtub to feed him, she finds his teeth in the melted water still draining out, and razor-sharp, pointed new ones already grown in. The backs of his hands are covered in thickened plates and his fingernails are also gone, replaced with dark slits and retractable claws. The long, wickedly curved talons on his feet are less retractable.

His ears don't fall off, but they do grow pointed and somewhat less-attached, moving independently of each other even as Harry sleeps to catch every sound. He only looks human in the face now; it is still his father's face and his mother's eyes, barely changed by the higher, sharper cheekbones, the wider jaw that compensates for his new teeth, the just slightly too-long, too-wide nose. He's handsome in an exotic way - very, very exotic if one looks beyond the face.

On the eleventh day, he no longer feels hot to the touch but when she sticks the thermometer into his mouth it reads 140 degrees Fahrenheit. She takes this as a good sign and moves him back to his room, no longer worried about cooling him down. Vernon returns the icemaker with the (false) complaint that it didn't work.

For three more days nothing changes, but still Harry doesn't wake. At the end of the second week, Harry is gone.

* * *

He wakes up. He has a strange sort of knowledge that tells him he has been asleep for a long time - he remembers moments of lucidness, when his back ached and he turned over, when the heat grew too warm and he cried out, when his bones grew so fast it felt like they were breaking and when his blood came to the surface and hardened as new, better skin.

But he doesn't know who or where he is, only that he must go somewhere. This knowledge is like a rope pulled taught, dragging him in one direction. His wings, which had been small but now reach up above his head and down to his knees, itch to fly. Vague memories of a grandly complicated castle, a warm hearth fire, and two of the most beautiful people in the world are not enough to keep him here.

So he leaves, opening one door and gliding down one flight of stairs and opening another, and then he's outside and it's great, it's the best thing in the world. The cool air hits him and the fire inside flares brighter for a moment, hotter, throwing off the chill until he's comfortable.

Then he spreads his wings and it's instinct to take one step forward in unison with a powerful beat of his wings. He's one foot in the air, then five, then twelve, and then the houses below are falling away and the rope is pulling him forward.

North.

* * *

Harry's been at the Dursley's for two weeks, more than enough for his mother's protection to be renewed. Dumbledore comes to collect him around breakfast, when the household will all be up and still home.

He knocks on the door and a woman answers. She has bags under her eyes and looks stressed, and she takes one look at him and says, "Well it's about damn time!"

Dumbledore blinks. "I'm sorry?" He tries.

"And you very well should be! I've been taking care of that boy for two weeks and then you just up and take him away without saying a thing. I suppose you think it's okay to come by after the fact - "

"Harry is gone?" Dumbledore asks severely.

"If it wasn't your people that took him, then he's gone off on his own." Petunia said. "And I wouldn't be surprised if he had, boy's likely delirious. He's been feverish for two weeks and he's changed. I thought you were supposed to be watching; did not your people see that he hasn't left the house all this time?"

"He had orders not to," Dumbledore mutters. "Changed? What do you mean changed?"

Petunia looks him up and down, then says, "My sister mentioned that your people can take memories right from the mind and put it into something else. It'll take too long to explain, just do that and then get off my step before the neighbors see you." She looks viciously and pointedly at his brightly colored suit.

"Alright then, just think of what you want me to know." Dumbledore says, and brings one finger up to her temple. It comes away with a strand of silvery memory attached, which he immediately touches to his own temple. He takes a deep breath as the memory assimilates, and then thinks, Harry Potter, last two weeks.

What he knows next makes him sigh, "Oh, _Harry_."

* * *

He keeps flying, doesn't stop for anything. It's been hours in the frigid air, but he feels strong, stronger than he ever has before. His wings beat powerfully and the sensation is so wonderful he can't help but tell the world. His screech comes out as a high-pitched _tseer _and ending with a low _rrchh _sound.

* * *

"Harry's... gone?" Hermione asks.

"Yes, and looks voluntary." Dumbledore says. "We're looking now but... I must warn you, if we find him he will have changed."

"He'll still be Harry," Ron says. "Harry won't change."

"Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore fixes Ron with an apologetic look, like he's sorry he has to do this. "I fear that Mr. Potter isn't even human anymore."

**The modern world is but a convergence of factors so unlikely to occur as to be practically an accident. - Max Weber**

He has left land far behind by now, has been flying over gray ocean for hours and hours until a strip of white looms into view up ahead. It is at first little more than a hint of what is to come, but as he grows closer the land mass seems to expand, morphing from a flat, expressionless plain to a thing with cliffs and crevasses, rolling hills and traveling snow dunes. A subzero wind blows from his left but the fire inside him keeps it at bay.

He looks at the land and in time with his heart pulses a feeling which he can only describe as 'home'. This is what he has been flying towards, this place. His wings ache with the strain of his flight and his stomach gnaws at itself for food, but he is home and it is good.

His landing is rough, stumbling, so that he tumbles off his feet and sinks into soft powder snow, so deep that he is completely under the crust. For some reason this is funny; he laughs, shifts, and slips further down. Before he even knows what he's doing he has started digging down, deepening the hole, throwing snow out the top with bare hands. As he reaches even farther down his claws come out to scrape the hard snow up.

Soon he has a comfortably sized den made of snow, and the wind above is slowly closing him in. The den grows warm with his body heat, lulling him into a restful sleep.

He wakes up completely buried under the snow, but finds that he knows exactly which way is up. The crust overhead is only a few inches thick, easily broken. He hollows out large opening, unfurls his wings, and takes off again. Up in the air, he can see for miles in all directions.

And to his right, there is a barely-seen dot moving across the skyline just as he is.

* * *

He draws closer to the dot, finding that it is like him: humanoid but not human, with wings and claws and horns. The creature notices him when he is still a few hundred feet away, and seems surprised that he is approaching. The other motions for them both to land, and he starts a fast downward spiral.

This time he lands on all fours, sinking in only to his chest, and the other - he can tell it is also male, now - does this as well. Then the other stands and looks over him curiously.

"Who are you?" The other asks.

"I don't know," He says. "I just knew I had to come here."

The other nods like this makes sense to him. "You're a switch, then," He nods again, slower. "You were human and you changed, and now you're Clan. It happens to some. Sometimes the memory is lost in the process, but usually it means your life before wasn't very good."

He frowns. He remembers two people he is sure he loved very much - one had buck teeth and frizzy hair, the other was often rude and jealous, but they were both beautiful in his mind and they were both golden at heart.

He also remembers green light, screaming, and a soul-wrenching guilt.

"I think it had it's good moments and bad moments." He says finally.

"Do you at least remember your name?"

"No. Should I?"

A shrug. "Some do. You'll need a new one. Mine's Griza." He squints at the switch and then adds, "But you can't have that one. It's mine."

"Okay. Can you name me?"

"I - I'm not good with naming. The last time I named someone he tried to kill me. Still is trying, actually." Griza looks up, as if worried this person will come diving out of the sky at that very moment.

"Who can, then?" The switch asks.

"Well... I guess I can. If you promise not to try to kill me. I don't like it when people do that."

It occurs to the switch then that Griza might not be all there, but he seems kind, if a bit slow.

"You'll be Sef," Griza announces. "It's a good Solis Clan name. How old are you?"

Sef blinks at the sudden change of subject. "Fifteen, sixteen I think."

Griza nods. "Good. Two more years until we find out if you'll try to kill me."

"What?"  
"Arako was eighteen when he started trying to kill me. He's the one I named before you."

"Why did you name him? Was he a... a switch, too?"

"No, he's my son."

Griza says it in such a casual way that Sef has to wonder if this is normal for his people. He has the feeling that, where he came from, sons love their fathers dearly.

* * *

Sef manages to convince Griza to give him an overview of his new people, who he knows nothing about. Griza is a strange teacher, often rambling off topic (more often than not about Arako, who has apparently been chasing him all around the Ice Land for the past two years) and going into vague, tantalizing detail.

Sef learns that he is Clan, the broad name for a group that is sliced into clean, surgical subsections and subspecies, whose mixing is so taboo it is almost unthinkable. There are many Clans, most prominent being the Rachnidae and the Solis, who each have several smaller allies and are always at the brink of war. Each Clan is told apart by their markings and features such as horn and wing type.

Rachnidae Clan members have four eyes, two smaller energy-seeing ones set closer to the center of the face and two larger ones set farther back, more sensitive to light and colorblind. The Solis Clan has doubled vocal chords, giving them harmonic voices, and their eyes spin hypnotically; combined, they use these two abilities to transfix prey before the kill.

Griza reveals that once, switches like Sef were welcomed into a Clan as new blood, but somehow came to be seen as a pollutant instead. Now switches and mixed-bloods travel in nomadic Clans, avoiding each other and the established Clans' territories.

He also tells a lot about himself, in a roundabout sort of way. Sef figures out that Griza was once part of the Solis Clan, that he is half-Rachnidae, and that his mother protected him from the rest of the Clan until she died. After that he was exiled from the Solis Clan for being of mixed-blood and he'd had a son somewhere along the way, and had been traveling ever since.

Griza spends a lot of time talking about his mother - it is evident that he stills loves her in the way a small child would, with the belief that she is the best thing in the world. He also talks a lot about his son, who he seems to hold a certain twisted sort of fondness for, despite Arako's vow to kill him. Sef can't figure out why exactly anyone would want slow, simple, kind Griza dead.

He lets Sef tag along in his travels, occasionally and carelessly crossing territory borders. He finds that most everyone knows Griza, the wanderer, and despite the Clans' discrimination against half-breeds Griza is well-liked. People give him food when he asks because he asks with a certain innocence that makes a thirty-nine-year-old Clan look like he's just a child again. It's a wonder to watch, and Griza doesn't even notice that people treat him differently.

A week into their travels together, the pair stops in Rachnidae territory and Sef meets Arako for the first time.

* * *

Like much of the Clan, Griza is heavily scarred. The Ice Land is a vicious place to live, with its subzero temperatures, ice drakes, and snow caps, which are a bit like polar bears but bigger and invisible. The ice drakes are perhaps the worst, able to fly and preferring an aerial ambush method to hunt their prey - usually large birds, but also the occaisional Clan.

Griza's most notable scar is a thick, slightly curved line over his left eye. All Clanborn have over-large, wide-spaced eyes, but Griza's left one is half-shut with the thick scarring. When asked, he tell Sef it is a memory of Arako's first blood on him. On the back of his head there are three more parrelel claw-marks, token of his exiled state. His wings, half-feathered half-bat like Sef's, are mottled with old scars.

Griza's method of traveling is strange to most of the Clans. He eats when he wants, sleeps when he wants, and does not worry about the future. If he runs out of food and is two days flight from the next Clan village, he flies on a keeps an eye out for a stray snow cap or ice drake to feed from. His life is almost completely free of stress, something that makes him the strongest person Sef knows.

However, it also means they stop at nearly every village for food, and it is in one Rachnidae village that Arako finds them.

The young Rachnidae has been tracking them all this time, predicted where they would stop next and taken a shortcut. He ambushes them right outside of the village; they have both landed in soft snow when he comes hurtling out of the sky and lands on Griza.

Sef is sure Griza's spine is broken, along with several other bones, but Griza throws off the Rachnidae with one movement. Then Arako is back, slashing at the older Clan with claws fully extended. Sef crouches, his swiveling ears pressed flat against his head, and he watches the fight.

Arako is good, he can see that right away. The Rachnidae keeps up a constant flurry of blows with his hands, feet, and even the clawed tips of his bat-like wings. Griza is just as good; he rarely strikes back, preferring to defend, but very few of Arako's hits land, and only the weakest.

Sef enters the fight silently, suppressing the instinctive tseerrrchh for the element of surprise. He is smaller than Arako, lands on the Rachnidae's back and clings on for all he is worth by digging both claws and talons deep into the tough skin.

Arako screeches and turns his attention from Griza momentarily, reaching up and over his head to claw at Sef on his back. Sef ducks beyond reach, but Arako's frantic jerking movements throw him off.

Arako looks between them for a moment, calm and slightly exasperated Griza and Sef, righteously outraged on his friend's behalf, and decides he's not prepared for a two-way fight. He jumps into the air again, and he never spoke a word through the entire encounter. Sef notices the three parralel scars running over the right corner of his mouth just as the Rachnidae is leaving.

"Now will you tell me why he wants to kill you?" Sef asks, rounding on Griza.

* * *

Griza does tell him, and Sef also gets a little recent history lesson, because as it turns out Griza is a lot more tangled up in the war tensions than he implied.

He's Arako's father, but Arako's mother is the Rachnidae King's Consort, and on the day when Arako would be named heir to the Rachnidae throne his mother revealed her affair with Griza, stealing from Arako everything he had been promised from the day of his birth. It was also his eighteenth birthday. Arako wasn't exiled, but both he and his mother were deeply shamed and he got it into his head that if his biological father died at his hand he would be redeemed in his adopted father's eyes.

And this made Griza, already unwelcome because his Solis mother had had a clandestine relationship with a Rachnidae man - though no one knew who _that _was - was kicked out of Rachnidae territory and told not to come back. He still did, uncaring of the borders, but wisely stayed out of the bigger cities.

"Why would you get involved with someone like the King's promised Consort?" Sef asks.

"It was twenty years ago. I was nineteen, just exiled from the Solis Court, and I met her and she never told me she was promised to the King. One day I went to see her and she just wasn't there, so I thought she left." Griza shrugs to show it doesn't matter.

"I would hate it if someone left me like that." Sef muses. "I'd look for them, at least."

Griza shrugs again. "Even if I found her, what was I going to do?"

This is something that annoys Sef about Griza. Even when it benefits them, he knows he can never be so passive, can never just sit back and let the world do as it will to him and the people he loves. When he sees injustice, like Griza exiled for no reason, he has to do something. Speak out.

He has a saving people thing.

* * *

"We've found him." Dumbledore announces to the gathering in his office. It consists of many of the most involved Order members, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger.

"We want to come with to get him back." Hermione says immediately.

"My dear, I would not have told you if I did not also want you to come with," Dumbldore says with the customary eye-twinkling. "I assure you, you are more vital to this mission than you know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron asks.

"I've been looking into what has happened to Harry. He went through a two-week transformation and became something nonhuman; this is not a common thing. There are only a few things he could have become and I have narrowed it down to Clan." Hermione gasps, as if she recognizes the name. "I believe Harry is in the Ice Land."

"You mean like... next to Greenland?" Ron asks.

"No, above and a bit to the right of Greenland. It's completely hidden from Muggles and has been since, presumably, the beginning of time. The Clans have lived up there for about that long."

"Why hasn't he come back?" Hermione asks.

"I have reason to think the transformation caused him to lose his memory. If he hasn't regained it in the past three months he's been gone, it's likely he never will." Dumbledore says sadly. "But I have hope that, if he sees you two, his memory will begin to return. You're the most constant, precious things in his life. If you can't bring him back, nothing can, and the Harry Potter we know is lost."

* * *

Three months in the Ice Land have been kind and cruel to Sef. He is lean and muscled from hunting and fighting. He has new scars, gifts from the vicious ice drakes and snow caps, and a new appreciation for the nomadic life. It is hard, but the freedom it affords is worth the cost.

He has been in Solis Clan's territory for three weeks now, and stayed most of the time in the Solis Court; this is because of Lura, a Solis Clan woman of about seventeen. He's been 'courting' her all this time, enjoying her company even more than he enjoyed Griza's before the older Clan moved on without him. It wasn't an easy decision to separate, but Sef thinks it was worth it.

Lura is less than beautiful to the casual eye, but something about a Clan brain equates loved ones with beauty and physical features cease to matter. Sef loves what is underneath: her dry, often morbid sense of humor, her fast mind and kind heart, and because of that her too-small eyes, softer teeth, and short nose don't even register.

He is waiting for Lura now, just inside the Court gates. He knows she lives somewhere inside, probably the daughter of a noble or important figure, but he doesn't know exactly where. As a switch, he is lucky to even be allowed inside the Court.

"Looking for someone?" A voice asks from right next to his ear.

Sef smiles and turns, already knowing who it is. Lura likes startling people by sneaking up on them. "Just the most perfect Clan in the world." He says.

Lura looks around. "I don't see her. Where is she? Should I be jealous?"

Sef's grin only widens. "I think I'm looking right at her," He puts his arms around hher waist, careful not to crush the feathery wings. She laughs and hugs him right back.

"Hey," He says as he's pulling away. "Want to see a trick? I've been practicing all week."

"Sure." She says. "But I warn you, I'm usually pretty underwhelmed at most things."

In answer, Sef holds out both hands, pressed together at the edge, palm up. They are empty. Then he closes them together and when he opens them again something is growing there. Something soft and vibrantly colored orange-purple-yellow-blue. Flowers, he thinks, though he has never seen them before.

Lura gasps quietly, and Sef knows why. She has never been outside the Ice Land which is near-desolate of life and color. The only bright colors she's ever seen have been in the eyes of the Clan. Flowers, fragile and soft, do not grow in this harsh world.

Sef holds out the colorful flower. "Here," He says. "It'll last as long as I do."

"Oh, Sef," Lura looks up at him, smiling so hard there are tears in her eyes. "You have no idea what this means."

* * *

"You're a mage," Lura explains. "They're Clan that can do... wonderous things. Most of the time, in times of peace, they're used to bring color into the Courts of the Clans. In war, they're the King and Queen's personal guard. All mages born within a Clan's territory or belonging to a Clan are property of the Court."

Sef frowns. He doesn't like the sound of being property.

"Oh, it's not so bad. They have all the freedom they want, they're well cared for and they get free training. In return, they serve the Court. All of the ones I've talked to love their jobs.

"But you're a switch, so you can go to any Court you want. And Sef, I'm so glad you chose this one. You chose me."

She is leading him deep into the Court, deeper than he's ever imagined being. As they walk a foreboding worry gnaws at his stomach, but he doesn't ask where they're going.  
"I was afraid my parents would reject you, even if they said it was my choice, because you're not Clanborn and you're not Courtborn. But now... they can't say no! It's perfect. I love you, and you're a switch, and you're a mage!"

Finally she stops. Right in front of the the Solis Palace.

"Sef, my full name is Allura Royal." She bows to him. "And I want you to be my mate."

**Which would you rather have: Foolish sanity or wise madness? - M de Cervantes

* * *

**

**Uncorrupted**

Your typical, Harry runs away, is found by a master Martial Artist/Battle Wizard/Assassin. Except... it's not.

harry runs, is found, and his new master sees something in him and does everything in his power to break harry. fifteen years later his master dies but before tells harry his plan: he'd seen in harry something that he'd seen in others, but so much stronger, and wanted to make sure before he taught harry his final art. he wanted to make sure harry could never be corrupted, could never enjoy taking a life or kill in cold blood or for money like the masters other students who he regreted faintly. this puts a burden on harry, who doesn't think his master was right about him but tries to live up to it anyway.

* * *

**Darkworld Hogwarts**

In which Hogwarts and indeed all of the Wizarding World is very, very different. They never did know when they took things too far.

* * *

Harry approached Hogwarts in a boat for the first time. He'd managed to get one right behind the half-giant Hagrid, who he had learned on the train taught Hand-To-Hand fighting, often abbreviated H2H. Hagrid was nice; amiable and obviously infatuated with Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Battle Magic.

The castle came into sight around a bend in the lake, and it was magnificent. Fires glowed through the battlements at the top, almost making it seem as though a sun were rising or falling behind it, and every crystaline window glittered with a single candle lit from the inside. The massive wooden doors at the front were wide open, allowing a distant and tantalizing view of the fire-lit interior. Above, towers rose into the darkening sky, some with sharply pointed roofs and some flattened except for the stone blocks set in an interval fence.

Harry's breath left him and didn't come back until they reached shore. On his way into the Great Hall, he noted with a surreal sort of practicality that the front doors were at least a foot thick and made of solid oak.

Inside the Hall, candles floated high in the air and students chattered among themselves. The sound hit the unSorted first years like a physical blow, it was so loud.

* * *

**The Ancient**

In the wake of a devastating attack, Harry Potter, aged twenty-three, vanishes without a trace. The only clue: a blue-green feather. On the other side of the world, a man wakes up with no memory, only a jagged scar on his forehead.

* * *

Hermione picks through the wreckage carefully, avoiding the still-hot embers while she douses even more of them. Her foot catches under something with wooden bars, something turned on its side and open-topped.

Something that is a crib.

Tears flood her eyes again. She thought she was all cried out, but this brings back the pain anew.

Oh, God. Hermione thinks. It's exactly like that night.

Ron has moved to her side, one arm wrapped around her shoulder. She turns to sob into his chest. Words spill from her like the tears, uncontrollable.

"Ron, it's exactly like that night." She says, voice choked and muffled. "The night his parents died. The house is burned down, the crib, Ron, the _baby_!"

Drops, soft and almost not there, on her hair make her look up. Ron is crying too, just a little. He's looking at the crib. "Nine months."

"She was due today." Hermione half-screams it. "Ginny was due _today_!"

"Her - the healer's already checked. The baby survived, just barely."

Hermione sniffed. "But Ginny. And - and we can't even find him." _His body_, she does not say. Because he's not dead. Harry doesn't _die_, they've proved that already. Some people don't test well, some people can't get thin, and Harry doesn't ever stay dead or lost or gone.

Except for this time, he _is_.

"His name. It's James Sirius Potter. We can do that much for Harry."

"We'll find him." Hermione says, and she means it. There are not enough shadows in the world to hide him from her. He will be found -

_dead or alive_

- and his son will know him.

* * *

voices.

voices? whose?

?

! approach!

wake up!

He comes to with pain in his head - headache, something supplies, sometimes caused by traumadehydrationasphyxiation - and confusion there, too. He is - who is he? What is his name? Does he have one? ...No. In fact, he could have just popped into existence a few moments ago, for all he knows, because he knows nothing.

Except that there are voices - human (long pale fleshy hairless flat-faced big-prey) young (almost full grown none of the soft tasty youth and none of the fat of age) and three (the humans of this age are weak and without fight, they are not warriors).

He suddenly realizes that some part of him has been preparing to eat these people (people?) and another part is telling him not to. That part makes something in him hurt.

sympathy, empathy, the ability to recognize and feel another being's pain. an ability almost singularly unique to humans.

But he is not human. His belly scales are pressed to this cold stone - concrete, human scum - and his tongue flickers out to catch the scent of human, and his wings stir the air above him. Why does he feel pain he has not even caused yet?

trespassers! The little piece insists. defend territory!

But...

_fire. burning screaming redginny lying down get up get up. fire smoke mumdadavadaKEDAVRA RED EYES RED HAIR RED BLOOD burning and falling and... and flying up and away, to the strands of light in the sky._

...this is not his territory. His territory is -

_fire_

- gone. This is something he knows for sure. What ever he was before, what ever he had been, he is not the same and he cannot go back. Only forward.

The voices grow closer and a door opens.

* * *

It happens in an instant, little more than instinct driving him. He jerks backward, farther into the shadows of the huge concrete box - warehouse, the empathetic part tells him - and then he is in the air. His wings are hardly moving but still he twists like a river without banks and his long body drapes itself among the metal supports - tree branches bright green leaves wet humid hot red green yellow blue - and then the three humans step into the warehouse.

There are two females, one male. Two are carrying (weapons?) oval-shaped, claw-thick boards, about as wide across as the humans and half as long. Too unwieldy to be weapons. One female is only carrying... black things. She shifts them in her hold and one appears in its entirety: vaguely formed to fit around a human hand.

_Gloves_, something tells him. _To keep warm to hide identity to keep safe_.

The humans stop in the entrance, casting long shadows from the bright yellow sunlight filtering in behind them. The male and female drop their strange boards to the ground, as the other female begins to put on her gloves. The two humans hold out their hands, palm down, over the board and say something -

_Up_!

- in their language, which he finds he can understand. The boards float up to knee height on the humans, and the other female has her gloves on, is bending down to check something on her feet-covering -

shoes

- and then the two humans are stepping onto the floating boards, and the one female is rising into the air, both knees bent as if to jump and arms out and loose, like she's balancing.

Humans are so odd, he thinks, watching the three zip around the warehouse floor, each only a foot above gravity's cruel tether. They are laughing, talking, but he isn't interested any more.

Then the humans begin to rise again. Higher and higher, one foot on the back of the board, pushing the front nose up, they come closer, closer, and then they are in the shadowy metal rafters.

One of them spots him, stops laughing, starts yelling. He doesn't try to understand; the male's flailing arms and loud voice are clear enough: he is being challenged. This puny little (monkey) thing is trying to intimidate him by making himself larger, but it won't work because he is the biggest thing in this warehouse. His mane of feathers rises around his head and he hisses his warning to _get out now_.

The human yelps and falls backward off the board. There is concrete a hundred feet below.

_SAVE!_ The human part screams, and almost without thinking about it his tail slides off the metal rafters, swings in a wide, almost too-slow arc to catch the falling human. Then he brings the male up to his face, to look at him again.

Why had he saved this human?

The male -

boy, he's just a boy

- is frozen with fear. His heart beats fast and his breath is shallow. He wonders why the... the boy is so afraid.

Then he becomes aware that the two females have stopping flying, have taken out short sticks -

wands!

- and are throwing glowing lights at his long body. The lights bounce right off or leave nothing more than a stinging sensation behind, but they are trying to hurt him. One is shouting to the boy caught in his coils, the other trying very hard to hurt him.

He unfurls one huge wing, the edge darting underneath them both, and then brings it up. They are knocked out of the air immediately, landing heavily on his soft blue-green feathers. He lowers it to gently deposit them on the ground.

But one of them is already flying again, arms stretched like wings for balance, and the other is going for her board. He decides to ignore them for now, until he has puzzled over the boy he saved.

The boy is still wrapped in his tail, held into the air dangerously high. He brings the human closer to his face, searching... this human smells no different from the others. He does not even taste much better; he might've wanted to eat him, but fresh-kill is just as good as still-alive so why catch him?

There is no reason, he decides, other than -

mercy for the weak. mercy mercy. to save and to protect. a mother's love for her children _**sacrifice**_-

- than these thoughts that are so huge they hurt his head. These thoughts that bring with them the ghosts of memories he knows, just knows, are too painful for any words. He is suddenly very sure that he doesn't want to know what he was before he woke.

The boy's face is turning blue and he has stopped struggling. He loosens his grip on the human slightly, realizing that air is essential for these beings and most others. The thought that he had almost killed the boy twice threatens to overwhelm him with this empathetic pain, but he holds.

Then a particularly vicious stab from behind draws his attention away.

The two females have both produced sharp weapons. One has tried to cut at his thick scales with the edge of a sword but the other has found that a direct stab with a spear works better. As he watches, she waves her wand and three more pop into being in the air around her, and then shoot forward at another command to bury themselves two inches into his hide. They feel like bee stings.

"Why do you attack me?" He asks. He did not mean to speak it but the words emerge anyway, slowly, because it is not his mouth forming them but his mind and magic.

The females stop, shocked out of their attack. Both zip away, reminding him of flies and fairies, to get out of easy reach.

"Let Jonah go!" The female with the board demands.

It takes him a moment to realize Jonah must be the name of the boy in his coils. He wonders why he doesn't have a name.

"Why?" He asks, genuinely puzzled. Neither of them smell like this Jonah's mate and he cannot understand loyalty outside of a mated pair.

"Are you stupid?" The floating one replies. "He's our friend! Give him back!"

Friend? -

red hair you're harry potter buck teeth has anyone seen a toad

you're doing magic, then, let's see it

is this seat taken

_GRYFFINDOR!_

- Friends are... precious, he remembers. They are family, to live and die and kill for. Loyalty. He feels a warmth that has nothing to do with heat when he thinks _friend_.

Then the feeling slips away. It is alien and has no place in this body.

This is too much trouble, he decides. He deposits the human male on the ground, none-too-gently, and turns away from the human females, a clear sign of dismissal.

They gather up their friend and leave.

* * *

**Weirstone**

It's a relic from the Old Magic, James said, holding up the thumb-sized stone. It glittered green in the light and caught baby Harry's eye from across the room-which is why, when James put it down, it promptly zoomed into the infant's hand and from there, his mouth.

* * *

**Do Not Fear The Reaper**

...for he is not cruel, or a killer. He is a consequence. He will take your hand and ask your name, and hand you off to the next life with a smile. And if you happen to ask him his own name, he'll say it was once Harry Potter.

* * *

**Creation**

Locked in a landscape of magic, life, and death, one twin is given up for madness, while at night the other dreams of alien worlds and angel wings... and a voice.


End file.
